“I presume you are right,” said J. Algernon Smith. “Only fancy blowing gold into a mine with a shotgun!” He laughed a little. “If they knew that, back in Chicago, they’d make game of me,” he added. “You haven’t told any one about this, have you?”
“Not a soul but you.”
“I’m glad of that, I can tell you. I’d hate to have the business get out. Of course, I hadn’t bought the mine yet. I was going to take samples, you know, and have them assayed; then, if the assays showed up well, the deal would have been made.”
It was very dark, at that hour, on the slope leading down into the cañon. Bushes fringed the horse-trail, in places, and there was quite a patch of chaparral at the foot of the slope.
Here Wild Bill and J. Algernon Smith came to a halt.
“Clancy doesn’t seem to be around,” said Wild Bill. “Maybe you’d better tune up with a whistle, or a yell, so that he’ll know where you are.”
J. Algernon Smith stared into the depths of a thicket.
“It looks to me as though there was a man in there,” said he. “Can you see any one, Mr. Hickok?”
Wild Bill took a step forward. His back was to his companion, and, while he was peering into the bushes, he heard a hasty step behind him.
He started to turn; and, at that precise instant, a heavy blow, dealt with some hard instrument, landed on the back of his head.